


Eleven Weeks

by ponticle



Series: Coffee Shop Universe [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Boys Kissing, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Growing Up, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Past Hawke/Anders, Right off the bat, Sex, ongoing series, what has happened to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-13 11:53:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11184558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponticle/pseuds/ponticle
Summary: [Set Immediately After Chapter 6 of the Main Story - Coffee Shop]There's one last hurdle in their ongoing relationship saga--geography. Anders and Alistair try to navigate their last 11 weeks apart. Now that their own turmoil seems to be at an end, their friends need significantly more help than normal.Each chapter begins with a line of randomly generated dialogue.This challenge will be updated each day for the next eleven days in a row.





	1. Week One

* * *

“Hi,” I adjust my phone where it’s sitting against the back of the couch. “Can you see me?”

Alistair nods. “Can you see _me_?”

“Yeah—you look amazing.”

He blushes. He’s choppy over facetime, but I can tell.

“So… how did it go?” I ask.

He rubs his hand across his face. “It was—brutal…”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay—at least it’s over…” he sighs. “The Chief of Medicine for the hospital was enraged, though. I thought she was going to have a heart attack—her face was so red.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah… I guess she thought I was going to be in the department _forever_ …” he sighs.

That strikes me as a little odd—we’re only in our thirties; how can we be expected to do _anything_ forever? I mean… _except_ … I can imagine being with him like that…

He interrupts my train of thought to ask a question:

“So what’s going on there?” he asks.

I shrug. “Not too much… I’m back into the swing of things at school. I had to do a bunch of makeup stuff from missing Monday.”

He nods. “I have to tell my students I’m leaving at the end of the term tomorrow…”

“Do you like them?” I ask.

“Yeah—this is an especially good batch of them.”

“Are any of them Anders-quality?” I tease.

He rolls his eyes. “Well, I haven’t fucked any of them yet, so I can’t tell. Want me to figure it out and get back to you?”

I pout. “I just want you to come here and fuck _me_.”

“I know… believe me; I know,” he sighs.

The way he’s looking at me goes straight to my dick.

“Do you want to tell me what it will be like?” I ask. “...when you’re here…”

He smirks. “Well… I’m going to fuck you into the mattress the second I see you.”

“No, not that quick—tell me all the leadup stuff.”

He laughs. “Okay… so I’ll knock on the door…”

It occurs to me that I should have given him keys before he left. This is as much his apartment as it is mine. In fact, it was his first. I try not to let it distract me, but I can feel that I’m making a face.

“What? You’d rather I broke it down?” he asks.

“No.” I laugh, “Sorry… I was just thinking that I need to give you a key.”

He smiles. “Yeah… that would be great.”

“Okay, go on.”

“All right.” He shakes his head and leans into the camera, fixing me with a sultry grin. “So you’ll open the door wearing just a flimsy pair of gym shorts. Your hair will be slightly damp and pushed over to the left side of your face.”

“Why the left?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes—presumably, because I keep interrupting him.

“Because that’s the side you push it to when you’re trying to look enticing.”

I’d never noticed, but now that I think about it, I think he’s right.

“I love how well you know me,” I blurt.

He smiles. “Do you want to hear what happens when you open the door or not?”

I nod.

“So the second the door is open, I’m on you,” he says. “I wrap one arm around your waist and push my fingers through your hair. You shove your tongue into my mouth and we’re groaning together as we stumble toward the kitchen counter.”

I’m sitting in the living room, so I can see the countertop in question. I keep glancing at it, picturing the things we’ve done in that kitchen _before_.

“I shove you against the lower cabinets,” he continues. “You're trying to undress me, but I keep pushing your hands away. This is all about _you._ ”

I accidentally groan. He's so sexy.

“So I kneel in front of you and kiss the outline of your cock.” He licks his lips for emphasis. “The fabric is thin so it soaks through almost immediately—clings to you in just the right way.”

“I'm not wearing underwear in this scenario?” I interrupt.

He rolls his eyes. “You don't always.”

“That's fair.” I shrug.

He stares at me for a second.

“ _What_?”

“I'm trying to figure out if you're going to keep interrupting me,” he laughs.

I shake my head. “I'm ready…”

“Okay, so you're starting to get antsy,” he says. “Your cock is rock hard and you're thrusting forward without meaning to.”

I'm doing that in real life too. My hand finds its way inside my pants and I start to brush my fingers against the head.

“You start to beg me to take your cock out—to lick and suck you,” he says.

“ _I'm_ begging?” I laugh. “That seems like sort of a role reversal…”

He laughs. “This is _my_ fantasy…”

“I'll remember that.”

“So when you're good and frustrated,” he continues, “I slip my fingers under the elastic of your shorts and pull them down to your ankles. Your cock springs out and you wince as the cold air hits it.”

That's significantly _less_ sexy than the other things he's said, but I'm willing to let it go because I think he'll bring it back. I've also started to stroke myself in earnest, so I'm losing touch with what's sexy and what isn't.

“I flick my tongue against a pearl of liquid at the tip and kiss the crown,” he says. “You're starting to shake. I put both hands on your hips to steady you against the counter.”

I moan.

“Andy?” He interrupts himself. “Are you touching yourself?”

I blush. “Yeah…”

“Can I see?”

I pan the camera down to where I'm hard and leaking.

He gasps. “I wish that was my hand so bad.”

“Me too…” I breathe. “Are you doing... _things..._ too?”

He shakes his head. “But I'm really hard. Wanna see?”

He moves the camera until I can see a left-leaning bulge in his pants. He's wearing really tight ones so (I swear) I can almost make out a vein.

“Oh god, take that out of there,” I whisper.

He laughs, but doesn't move the camera away from his cock while he unzips and pushes his pants down past his thighs.

“Hey, you got rid of a bunch of your curls,” I note.

He laughs. I still can't see his face, but I assume he's smirking. “Yeah… I wasn't sure if you'd notice.”

That's an absurd thing for him to say. _Of course_ I would notice; I dream about his cock.

“So anyway…” he takes his dick in hand and strokes it a few times before bringing the camera back up to his face. “I start to suck you in earnest. I let you thrust forward until I'm almost choking and pull back until only the crown is between my lips.”

I shiver.

“And you're starting to get close; I can feel it,” he says.

“Not yet.”

“Then you better hurry up, because this is _my_ story,” he jokes.

I nod assent.

“So you’re thrusting into my mouth wildly. I have to brace myself to stay upright,” he says.

I almost laugh, because it’s such an absurd thing to think—as if I’m some kind of sexual bully. _Am I?_

“What?” he asks. He looks deflated.

“Sorry… go on.”

He rolls his eyes, “No… now I think you should explain it.”

“You just make me sound like I’m mean,” I whine.

He laughs. “You’re not _mean_ —I like when you’re a little rough with me.” He’s blushing. “Like… remember last weekend? You bit me. I still have the bruises to prove it.”

I swallow a whine. “I want to kiss those.”

He smiles. “Okay… are you going to let me finish this story?”

I nod.

“Okay, so we’re in the throws of it…” His voice shakes in a way that tells me _he’s_ in the throws of it. “You reach around and grab the back of my head, pushing your fingertips through my hair.”

I wish I had thought ahead to have some lube handy. My palm is sort of rough against my skin. Nevertheless, I’m imagining his lips on me.

“And I’m grunting and moaning as I trail a hand up the inside of your thigh,” he whispers. “I cup your balls in my hand and feel them start to pull against me. I know you’re close.”

“I _am_ ,” I breathe.

He smirks. He doesn’t have to tell me the ending and I wouldn’t have heard it anyway, because a second later I come all over my stomach.

He laughs. “You look so good like that.”

It takes me a second to open my eyes. I love his face. “Give me a minute?”

He nods.

I run into the bathroom to clean myself up. By the time I get back, he looks sort of sleepy.

“Did you come without me?” I tease.

He bites his lip. “You’re too sexy. I couldn’t wait.”

We sigh together.

“I miss you,” I say.

“I miss you too.”

We look at each other miserably.

“11 weeks has never felt this long.” He pushes a hand through his hair.

“You know… I was looking at my shift schedule,” I begin. “And I have two days off consecutively next week…”

His face lights up.

“Maybe I could come out there and visit you?” I ask.

“When is it?”

“It’s next Sunday and Monday…” I explain. “So I was thinking… I could get on a train late Saturday night and then I could come home Monday afternoon.”

“Would you really be able to do that?”

I nod. “For _you_ I would.”

“Oh my god, I’m so excited.”

“Me too.”

 

* * *

 


	2. Week Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders misses his train to NYC after a mishap at work. Hawke needs help with an unlikely problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T: no warnings :)

* * *

“I just wanted a nice easy life,” I sigh into the phone. “What’s so wrong with that?”

“What’s going on?” asks Alistair.

“I had an emergency during my shift and I missed the train…” I answer.

“Oh.” He sounds deflated.

“I checked the bus schedule and looked for flights, but nothing else leaves tonight,” I add. “I’m so sorry, Love…”

“It’s okay,” he says. “You didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Well, clearly… but I still feel terrible.”

“It’s okay, Sweetie,” he says. “I will miss you, but we’ll catch up with it. Maybe next weekend?”

I lean my head against a post. I’m standing in the middle of South Station, staring up at a huge lighted board that shows no more departures to New York until tomorrow. This sucks.

“What if I came in the morning?” I ask.

“What time?”

“The first train leaves at…” my eyes scan the board, “9:30? I’d be there by 1.”

“Okay,” I can tell he’s smiling. “Tomorrow would be great.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… of course. I want to see you.”

“Okay, well, I’ll probably go meet everyone at the Hanged Man and then I’ll get myself back here in the morning,” I say. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

 

* * *

 

I’m not used to being back together. If someone had told me three weeks ago that I was going to be reunited with Alistair and that we’d be whispering we loved each other every chance we got, I would have laughed. I can’t believe how lucky I feel.

The whole way to the bar, I resist the urge to skip.

“Hey,” says Hawke. Uncharacteristically, he’s the only one there—strange for a Saturday night.

“Where is everyone?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Merrill is at home, but I don’t know where Fenris and Isabela are. They didn’t pick up.”

We look at each other—we both know that means they’re fucking.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a train?” he asks suddenly.

A drink shows up in front of me without ordering. It’s my usual.

“Uh… yes…” I push a palm across my face. I’m so tired it hurts. “I missed it.”

He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry, buddy. Alistair is going to be super sad.”

“He is.” I sigh. “I’m going first thing tomorrow, though.”

“That’s good…” Hawke sips from the edge of his beer. It occurs to me that although he’s saying all the right things, he’s not acting right.

“Hey… are you okay?” I ask.

He looks up at me and laughs—a mask where his face should be. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I squint at him. “I don’t know… you just don’t seem like yourself.”

“I think you’re imagining things,” he laughs again.

I’m not, though. I’ve known him a long time. I know when he’s not okay.

“Garrett…”

He looks at me peripherally and frowns. “Fine…” He sighs. “Merrill isn’t at home. We got in a huge fight and she went to stay with Isabela and Fenris… that’s why they aren’t here.”

“Oh…” I lean an elbow on the bar and look at him. “What was the fight about?”

He throws his hands up in the air. “What _wasn’t_ it about?”

I laugh even though that isn’t remotely funny—it’s a reflex.

“It started out about the dishes,” he explains.

I nod.

“She came home and I said, ‘did you notice that I did the dishes?’ and that was apparently the last thing I should have said…” he begins.

“Why?”

“I’m not sure… anyway, she got really silent and muttered something under her breath—like she was hexing me or something—and then she just exploded.” He drops his face into his hands, but doesn’t stop talking. “She said that I treat her like my mother—that I expect her to do things, but when I do things I want a reward… She said I’m making her do all the emotional and intellectual work of our relationship…”

“Oh god…” I whisper. I’m trying to be supportive… but if I think about it from Merrill’s perspective, I can understand where she’s coming from. Everyone knows she takes care of him—not the other way around.

“So finally, the pinnacle of the fight was that she can’t trust me to do anything on my own,” he continues. “And that if she can’t trust me to take care of myself, or of our home, or of _her_ , she can’t trust me enough to have kids with me…”

I barely manage to suppress a gasp. They’ve been talking about having kids since about two weeks into their relationship—they’ve always wanted to be parents.

“...and then she left.” He looks up at me; his eyes are glassy.

“Oh god, Hawke…” I wrap an arm around his back and pull him until he can put his head on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry…”

He shrugs against me.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so… I tried calling her a bunch of times, but then Isabela texted me and said she needs ‘time’.”

“Oh…”

We sit there together in silence for a while. He’s extra warm, I notice. He’s always sort of a big furnace, but I think he’s so distraught that his metabolism is working overtime—fight or flight has already kicked in.

“Andy?” he says, suddenly picking up his head. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Sure, Buddy…” I nod and gather my things.

We pay the bill and head back to my place.

“I’ll put new sheets on the guest bed for you,” I say.

He nods. “Let’s not go to sleep yet, though… want to stay up and watch something funny? I could use _funny_ right now.”

It’s after midnight already, but I know he isn’t going to fall asleep until sheer exhaustion forces him to. I know what this kind of relationship drama feels like, unfortunately. “Sure.”

           

* * *

 

We curl into blankets on the couch and end up watching two movies. I don’t see the end of the second one, though. Before I know it, I’m blinking into sunlight.

Hawke is asleep half on top of me. We’re all mixed up—arms and legs everywhere. As I’m trying to get my bearings, I realize the thing that woke me up is my phone vibrating in the coffee table next to us. It’s a FaceTime from Alistair. Centering the camera on my face, I answer it.

“ _Hi_ ,” says Alistair. “What’s going on?”

I blink a few times. “What do you mean?”

“Uh… it’s 9:26—why aren’t you at the train station?” he asks.

“Oh shit.” My whole body goes rigid and I’m sucking in air like I’m in the middle of a workout. In my haste, I disrupt Hawke, who groans loudly.

“What’s that noise?”

I blush bright red. “It’s Hawke.”

“Hi, Al…” he mumbles.

It’s hard to tell on the screen, but I think Alistair just went pale. I manage to extricate myself from Hawke and run into the bathroom. I turn the water on so Hawke won’t hear what I’m about to say.

“Did you just miss your train _again_ because you were sleeping with Hawke in our apartment?” asks Alistair. His voice is flat. I find it terrifying.

“Yes… but not like _that_ …”

He rolls his eyes.

“He and Merrill were having a fight and he didn’t want to be alone…” I explain. “So he came to my place and we fell asleep on the couch, watching movies.”

“You know that sounds like the intro to every romantic comedy, right?” says Alistair.

I shrug. “I realize that… but I love _you_.”

“Well, despite that, you didn’t manage to make it here…” he mumbles.

“I know, Love…” I push my fingers through my hair, which is knotted and crazy from the way I slept. “I’m so sorry…” I look at my watch desperately. “I can get the next one… it leaves at like noon, I think?”

“At this point, you should not come… we’re going to have like less than 18 hours together before you have to leave again…” he says. “We can try again next weekend.”

“Well… next weekend I have two 16-hour shifts…” I mumble.

“Well, I guess some _other_ time then…” he huffs.

“Al… don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” he snaps.

“Like _that_ —like I’m disappointing you.”

He shakes his head. “You are disappointing me…”

I purse my lips.

“...but that doesn’t make you _a disappointment_ …” He finally smiles—it’s only with one side of his face, but it’s something. “I’ll let you deal with Hawke… call me later.”

 

“Is he super mad?” asks Hawke, in the kitchen. He hands me a coffee mug like it’s a peace offering.

“No… he’s just disappointed that I missed the train—again.”

Hawke nods.

“Did you get any messages from Merrill?” I ask.

“No.”

We nod to each other sadly. There’s nothing else to be said.

* * *

 


	3. Week Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair shows up unexpectedly while Anders is at the hospital. TBH, this whole chapter is just sex. Sorry/not sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E. Extremely E.

* * *

“You must be mad: coming here like this,” I whisper.

Alistair pushes me backward into a supply closet. He’s dressed like he works here—scrubs and a long white coat. They aren’t the same shade of blue we use here, but they’re close enough to trick someone who isn’t really looking. He’s confident enough to pull off hiding in plain sight.

“I love you; I couldn’t wait another week,” he breathes. He plunges his hand down my pants and grabs my cock.

“Oh dear god,” I gasp. “I’m—” he kisses me desperately. “I’m in the middle of a shift!”

He pulls his face back two inches and smirks. “Didn’t you once tell me you had _sex_ in a closet like this? ...in the not-so-distant past?”

I blush.

He laughs. “Well, I wanted to _erase_ that memory. You’re welcome.”

I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull our mouths together. He groans.

“Shh,” I caution.

He laughs and pulls my scrubs down past my hips. It’s easy because they’re slightly too big for me. I’m so stressed and skinny these days.

“Oh god.” I bite his neck and lick a line up to his ear. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“You’ve mentioned that already,” he teases. “I’m going to suck your dick now.”

He winks and drops to his knees. When he sucks me into his mouth I have to grab onto a wire shelving unit to stay upright. Boxes of gauze and non-latex gloves fall onto the floor. My knees feel wobbly and my vision swims. It doesn’t help that I can’t remember the last time I ate something. As the blood rushes to my dick, I start to lose touch with reality.

...but it feels so _good_. “Fuck, Al…” I whisper hoarsely. “You’re so… Oh god…”

He laughs, which rumbles through me, then picks up the pace. He’s bobbing frantically before I’m even used to it.

“Love?” I lean backward against the shelves and manage to run my fingers through his hair. “I’m gonna…”

He lifts an eyebrow at me. I know what it means—he’s _judging_ my stamina. Whatever. I’m too far gone to view this as a competition.

“Please...please…” I beg.

He nods and adds his hand below his lips. His tongue swirls around the tip and my eyes flutter closed against my will. The moment I come, he swallows around me in this way no one else ever has. It’s something he’s always done, but I’ve never had an opportunity to look at it _clinically_ before. Mid-orgasm, a thought occurs to me and I have to ask:

“Is there something _wrong_ with your gag reflex?” I ask.

He laughs and—presumably—almost spits my come out of his mouth.

“I mean… you should _not_ be able to do that…” I add.

He stands and kisses me, but I’m still talking.

“...is there something wrong with your cranial nerves?” I ask.

He pushes his tongue into my mouth.

“I mean… I would hate to think you have some kind of neurological condition,” I mumble.

He pushes me back into the shelves and kisses me harder. “Can you stop?”

We both laugh.

“No. I’m studying for my board exams.” I smirk.

“You taste good today,” he says.

“As opposed to what?” I tease.

He shrugs. “I love you.”

We kiss a few more times until my lips feel bruised, and finally manage to separate. I put myself back together before it occurs to me that I haven’t even touched his dick. It feels wrong, so I reach out. He sidesteps me, though.

“It’s okay—I’ve kept you long enough,” he says.

“Are you sure?” I smirk.

He nods. “Yeah… you can make it up to me tonight…”

“Tonight?” I ask.

“Yeah—I’ll be at the apartment when you get home.” He leans in to whisper in my ear. “...and I’ll be naked.”

I make a mental note to tell Hawke to get _out_ of my house—he’s been there all week—and kiss Alistair goodbye.

 

* * *

 

The rest of my day passes quickly. There is enough activity that I don’t have too much time to imagine what Alistair is _doing_ all alone in my apartment. I hope he’s naked already, though. The mental picture carries me all the way home.

When I open the door, the lights in the loft are on, but everything else is dark. Soft jazz is wafting down the stairs.

“Hey,” he says, when he sees me. As promised, he’s completely naked. He has a hell of an erection, too.

“Hi.” I strip my clothes off as quickly as I can and rush toward him. “Did you have a fun day?”

“Yes…” he bites the skin of my shoulder. “I had a really good time going through your room…”

I laugh. “What did you find?”

He smiles and looks across to my dresser. “I found some fun things you never owned before…”

 _Oh._ _My sex toys_.

“I bought them over the last year…” I mumble lamely. For some reason, I’m really embarrassed. I don’t know why.

He wraps his arm around my waist and looks at me. “Can we play with them?”

“Really?”

He nods. He looks mischievous as he crosses the room to look in the bottom drawer.

“I’m most interested in this thing,” he says, pulling out a bright blue dildo. It’s the biggest thing in the drawer—I should have known he’d pick that.

He pulls out a couple other things and drops them all on the bed. He holds the blue one in his hand, though. “What most interests me about this thing is what you _do_ with it…” he waves it at me demonstratively.

I laugh. “What do you mean?” It seems kind of obvious…

“Do you put this in other people or yourself?” he asks.

“Oh…” I blush. “Both, actually.”

He looks a little surprised. “I didn’t think you liked things this big in your ass.”

“I do _sometimes_ ,” I say evasively. In truth, I bought it in my Renee phase. I don’t think about it much because I was such an asshole in that relationship, but he was one of the more sexually adventurous partners I ever had. We did a lot of things I wouldn’t normally be into.

“Do you want to put this in me?” he asks.

“If that’s what _you_ want…”

He hands it to me. It’s always weird holding a fake cock in my hand where there are _two_ real ones in the room, but I’m okay with it. He looks so good I’m willing to do anything.

“Come here,” I sit on the bed and watch him stretch out on his back next to me. “Just lie back and relax—get really comfortable.” I’m saying it like that because I know what a bitch this thing is to get in. It’s going to take some work—and lots of lube.

“Tell me what you want,” I say.

He stretches his arms overhead and closes his eyes. His cock lolls against his stomach. “I want you to fuck me with that thing and suck my dick.”

I laugh. “Very specific.”

He nods and smiles at me. “I had nothing to do all day but picture it… it’s very highly developed in my brain at this point…”

I put some lube on my fingers and reach between his legs. “Have you been touching yourself today?” I whisper.

He nods. “A lot.”

“Did you come?”

He shakes his head.

“Good.” I push two fingers into him gently. It’s _easy_ , so I know he isn’t lying. In fact, I think I could have slid my dick into him almost as easily. I feel a little chill at the thought.

He gasps. “Oh god… Fuck…”

I smirk and lean in to kiss him. His mouth is soft and wet. I lick along his bottom lip and bite the center before pulling away.

“Please…”

“Are you ready?” I ask.

He nods fervently.

“Okay.. but don’t say I didn’t warn you…” I pull my fingers back and spread lube all over the dildo. It’s slick and glistening before I push it against him.

“Ooh. That’s super cold.” He flinches and laughs.

I smile as I watch the first couple inches disappear. I wonder if he’s going to bite his arm or if he’d like me to bite him, like we did last time we had sex, but he doesn’t. He just squeezes his eyes shut and groans. Our walls are thin, but he has the music turned up loudly enough that I don’t worry.

“More?” I ask.

He nods.

On the next gentle thrust, I get it in more than half way. He sighs and grips the linens.

“Enough?” I ask. If it were me, I would have said ‘enough’ two inches ago.

He shakes his head.

“Okay…” I mumble, pushing and pulling gently—more in than out.

I watch his muscles tense and relax. Sweat glints across his chest. “All the way,” he whispers, through a clenched jaw.

I resettle myself next to him on the bed and kneel so I have more leverage. I also want to be able to see into his eyes. I want to see his expression.

“Dear god…” he shudders, when I’ve managed to fill him.

“Is it good?”

He nods. “Now suck my dick.”

We both laugh, but I lean down and take him into my mouth anyway. I continue to gently push on the dildo with my other hand. I notice almost instantly that whenever I push in, Alistair’s dick jumps between my lips.

“Oh god,” he groans. “Oh. My. God.”

“Are you going to come?” I ask. My lips brush him as I speak.

He nods. “I want to.”

I suck him back into my mouth and bob a few times, but he reaches out to touch my face.

“Not like this.” he says. “With you.”

That makes me tingle everywhere. I gently pull the dildo out of him. It makes a wet pop noise at the end, which makes us laugh again. It’s an absurd color and shape and size—that noise was the last straw. While I’m dealing with getting rid of it, he kneels on the bed.

“Lie down,” he says, gently pushing me.

“I love you so much,” he whispers, taking my dick in hand. He rubs it up and down until I’m painfully hard and then rubs lube all over it. I shiver.

While my eyes are closed, he lines himself up above me and sinks down. It takes hardly any effort—a contrast to what it’s usually like.

“I must seem really small now,” I joke.

He laughs and reaches out to touch my face. “You’re the perfect size… now let me fuck you.”

He rocks himself up and down until I’m biting back an urge to scream. He feels incredible. I reach out and grab his cock in my hand. He’s probably on the verge of coming already, considering the day he’s had, but I want this to be an orgasm to remember, so I stroke him as fast and hard as I can.

“Yes,” he whispers. “I’m close.”

“I know.”

I can feel him tightening around me. Three more hard tugs and he’s coming all over my hand and stomach. He cries out and stills—his face squished up and eyes pinched shut.

I start to move so he’ll get off of me, but he pushes me back down.

“I want you to come,” he says.

“I already did—I seem to remember you swallowing all of it,” I laugh.

“...in me,” he adds.

 _Oh_. This is the first time we’ve fucked without a condom since we got back together. It feels really good, but I know that it’s more symbolically important than anything.

“Okay…” I put my hands on his hips to keep him still and dig my heels into the mattress. The first few thrusts up are rough and ill-timed, but we get into the swing of it easily.

“Yes,” he breathes.

The skin of his thighs slaps against my hips on every thrust and everything sounds wetter and louder than it did a minute ago—the closer I get to my own orgasm, the less aware of my specific parts I am. We’re starting to feel like one big organism: breathing and moving as one. And then the world falls apart. At the exact second I start to come, Alistair leans down and shoves his tongue in my mouth. I gasp around it and try not to bite him as I spasm and writhe.

 

* * *

 

We kiss and rub all the way through a shower and back into bed.

“I love you,” whispers Alistair, when we’re tucked in.

“I love you too.” I curl into his side.

“Do you know that Dorian and Cullen don’t say that?” he says suddenly.

I laugh. “What?”

“They’re idiots—they like… think it’s passé or something…” he rolls so we’re looking at each other face to face in the dark.

“Well, I think _they’re_ passé.”

He nods. “I would be _so_ sad if you stopped telling me you loved me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t do that.”

We kiss again.

“Are you glad I came to see you?” he asks.

“Yes. I was so surprised to see you in the hospital today.”

“Good—that was the plan.”

“I wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow morning,” I add.

“Me too…” he kisses my cheek. “...but just think: a few more weeks and I’ll never have to leave again.”

* * *

 


	4. Week Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair wakes up with a hangover after his interns throw him a goodbye party. Hawke and Merrill _might_ be making some progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T

* * *

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” I cackle into the phone.

Alistair groans. “I haven’t been this hungover since college…”

I laugh. “You sent me some texts, but I don’t know what they mean.”

“Oh god. Did I?” he asks.

“Yes. They were all garbled, but I think you proposed…” I laugh.

He goes silent.

“I mean… I’m not saying _no_ …” I tease. “I was just expecting something a little more romantic.”

“Don’t worry—it will be _really_ romantic when I ask,” he says.

My heart flutters; we sigh together.

“Anyway… I didn’t know that telling my interns I was leaving would mean they’d take me out and get me hammered.”

“I wish I’d been there to see it…” I say.

“Me too… _kind of_ …” he laughs. “I mean… I bet I was acting like an idiot.”

I laugh. “So what do you have to do today?”

“Nothing much… I was thinking about touching myself a little…” he jokes.

“Ooh, do that.”

“What are you wearing?” he growls.

“Nothing—I’m still in bed.”

He’s silent for a second, then the phone rings in my ear. He wants to FaceTime.

“Hi.” I laugh, moving the camera so he can see me.

“Oh. I thought you were lying,” he says. “I figured you were just saying that—like, ‘I’m sitting around in black lingerie and heels…’.”

“Would _that_ be a turnon for you?” I ask.

He snorts.

“Show me your body,” he says.

I roll my eyes. “I don’t have time for this today… I have a pathology exam in under two hours and I have to take a shower and stuff…”

He pouts. “Fine… but I’m going to picture you in that shower…”

“You’re allowed.”

Just then, Hawke yells from downstairs to ask if I want coffee. _What kind of a question is that? Of course I want coffee_.

“Is that Hawke?” asks Alistair.

I nod.

“He’s still there?”

“Well, not _still_ —he has gone home _sometimes_ , as you know…from last weekend...”

He shrugs. “You know what I mean…”

“Yeah… but I think he’s going to talk to Merrill today, actually.”

“Well, let me know what happens,” he says. “And good luck on that exam.”

“Yup. Thanks… Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye.” He hangs up.

 

Downstairs, Hawke has already made breakfast. He’s slept at my house probably ¾ of all the nights since his fight with Merrill two weeks ago. He’s trying to make himself useful so I don’t resent having him there.

“Want some eggs?” he asks.

I nod. “Thanks, Buddy.”

“So when are you getting together with Merrill?” I ask.

“At noon…” He looks stressed.

“Well, don’t worry—I’m sure everything is going to be fine,” I say. “I mean, you’ve both had time to collect your thoughts. I bet she wants to talk about the plan for moving forward…”

He nods, but he doesn’t look sure.

In reality, _I’m_ not sure either, even though I have a lot of _belief_ in their relationship. I can’t really imagine a scenario where he and Merrill aren’t together anymore. They’re one of the few constants in my life.

“Well, wish me luck, buddy.” I swallow the rest of my coffee in one too-big gulp and grab my things. I often leave the house like a whirlwind.

 

* * *

 

My exam is easy—well… as easy as a pathology exam ever is. By the sliding scale of ‘ _tests in medical school_ ’ it’s easy. I’m feeling especially accomplished as I hear some other students talking about it—if consensus is any indication, I did _really_ well. When I have a chance to look at my phone, there are a few group texts. That hasn’t happened in days—not since Hawke and Merrill started fighting. Maybe this is a good sign.

 **Fenris** : How’s everyone today?

 **Hawke** : doing okay. What’s up with you?

They go back and forth for a while until Isabela sends a non sequitur—just two minutes ago.

 **Isabela** : I need a drink. Someone meet me.

She doesn’t have to say _where_ —we all know.

 **Anders** : I just finished an exam. Want to meet now?

 **Isabela** : sure thing. C u there.

When I get inside, she’s sprawled out across three stools at the bar. Her bag and coat each have their own chair.

“What’s up, Andy?” she asks.

I move her coat and sit in the chair on her left. “Not much. Have you talked to Merrill today?”

She side-eyes me. “No… but you’re right in assuming that I’m on her side…”

“I don’t think we should take sides,” I say.

She laughs. “You already did; Hawke has been sleeping at your house.”

I shrug.

“How does Alistair feel about that, incidentally—your _perpetual_ houseguest?” she goads.

“He’s fine. He knows Hawke needs me.”

She raises an eyebrow at me, but doesn’t say anything else.

“Hawke’s really torn up about this you know… He _needs_ Merrill…” I add.

“That’s the exact thing she _doesn’t_ want—she’s not his mother,” says Isabela.

“I know that…” I want to argue that I need Alistair in the same way and that it _doesn’t_ make our relationship dysfunctional; it makes it serious. I don’t think she’ll respond well to that argument, though. She and Fenris have this idea that the _only_ functional relationship is one where neither admits to having too much invested. It makes me sort of angry, because they’re superior about it. It’s a topic I avoid on purpose.

“Whatever… I’m just glad they’re talking today,” I say finally.

She nods.

At the same time, we both get a text. We look down at our phones in tandem.

 **Hawke** : I’m coming to meet you guys.

He doesn’t say if anything has been resolved, so I’m still nervous.

“What do you think that means?” I ask Isabela.

She shrugs. “It could be anything—Merrill has been having _all_ the emotions this week…” The way she says it implies that emotions are inherently _bad_. I love Isabela—we’ve been really close for years—but I hate when she dismisses feelings… like they’re messes that she’d rather not clean up.

“I hope they’ve worked it out,” I say.

“Me too,” she admits. She shrugs like it’s embarrassing to wish that, so I don’t press her on it.

Hawke pokes his head in just a few minutes later. The bartender, who we know intimately, has a drink in front of him before he’s even said hello.

“So…” prompts Isabela. “What happened?”

He sips from the edge of his tumbler and swallows audibly. We’re watching him with a level of rapt fascination unbefitting drinking from a semi-dirty glass in a dive bar.

“I think we’re going to be okay,” he says plainly.

I let out a sigh of relief and clap him on the back. “Thank god…”

Even Isabela manages to look pleased. She smiles and twirls a piece of black hair at her temple.

“So what did she say?” I ask.

“She said that we have a ways to go—we need to work on some things about how our relationship runs…” he explains. “...but that she missed me…”

I like all the things he’s saying, but a nagging voice in my head keeps saying, ‘ _that isn’t enough_ ,’ ‘ _that skirts the issue_.’ I try to shut it off, but I can’t.

“But what about the mothering stuff? Did you talk about that?” I ask.

Isabela rolls her eyes at me.

“Well…” Hawke clears his throat, “A little… but she mostly just said that being apart wasn’t working for her…”

Based on past experience, I know that getting back together without having the tough conversations is a terrible idea. I remember when Alistair and I got back together in the aftermath of the Cullen episode… it was doomed from day one.

Isabela puts her hand on Hawke’s shoulder to turn him away from me. “I’m glad you’re okay, Hawke… and if you’re okay _and_ Merrill is okay, then we’re okay, too.” She looks at me pointedly, “Right, Andy?”

I nod. “Right…”

 

We laugh through the rest of a drink and eventually find ourselves walking in opposite directions. All three of us hug. It feels good to be back in known territory.

On my walk back, I call Alistair to tell him the good news.

“Does this mean Hawke will move out of your place?” he asks.

I laugh. He wasn’t exactly living there, but I know what Alistair means.

“I guess so…” I answer.

“Thank god… I’ll actually be able to relax when I’m there this weekend,” he says.

“What?”

“This weekend… when I see you,” he reiterates.

“You’re coming this weekend?” I’m smiling into the phone.

“Yes… I’m going to fly from JFK on Friday night… is that okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course. I can’t wait.”

* * *

 

 


	5. Week Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Anders wake up together in Anders' apartment and ready themselves for a lovely morning, but their plans are thwarted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M

* * *

“I miss moments like this more than anything,” says Alistair.

He's hovering over me in bed on the Sunday of our weekend together. It’s just past 5am; he has to catch the train in less than three hours. Our time is almost up.

“I miss you all the time, not _just_ in bed.” I smirk up at him.

“Are you saying you _don't_ miss me in bed?” he laughs. “Because I can easily get up…”

He starts to move away from me, but I grab him around the waist and pull him back.

“Please don't go,” I mumble, kissing him.

He slides his tongue between my lips. It's lazy and simple, but I love it.

“I'm yours for another three hours,” he whispers.

Just then, my phone rings. More accurately, it buzzes—across the end table next to us.

“Ignore it,” says Alistair.

I roll my eyes. “I can't—it might be important.”

I squirm out from under him and grab the phone. It's Hawke.

“Hi,” I say. “What's going on?”

There's a long sigh on the other end and I think I can hear street traffic. _What is Hawke doing outside at 5am_?

“She left me,” he says.

My mouth feels dry. “What?”

“Merrill is gone…” he repeats. “She left last night and I've been wandering the streets since about 2am.”

“Oh my god, Garrett.” I breathe. “I thought you two worked it out last weekend!”

“I thought so too…”

Alistair looks at me like I might be having a mental breakdown. He inspects my face like he's trying to make a complicated diagnosis.

“What do you need?” I ask.

“I don't know,” he says. “I just need… I _want_ … I just want her back.” He's crying now; I can hear it. As sensitive as he is, I have only heard him cry a few times in my life. It kind of scares me.

“Okay, why don't you come over to my place?” I ask.

Alistair shakes his head in protest, but I keep talking.

“Yes, _Alistair_ says you should come over too,” I lie.

Alistair pushes a palm across his face in exasperation.

“Okay, we'll see you soon, Garrett.” I hang up.

“Why is he coming here?” asks Alistair. He wraps his arms around me and forces me back down into the mattress. His jaw connects painfully with my sternum.

“Merrill left him,” I say seriously.

That makes Alistair pick his head up off my chest. “What?”

“I know… I don't understand it anymore than you do…” I say. “I mean… I knew they were having problems the last couple weeks…”

He nods.

“...but I never imagined they would _break up_ ,” I say. “They were talking about _kids_ for god’s sake.”

He shrugs.

“I guess you don't know them as well as I do…” I try to think of a comparison he’ll understand. “In your world, this would be like if Dorian and Cullen _suddenly_ broke up.”

Alistair laughs. “No it wouldn't… I have expected that around every turn so far.”

“Okay, well, pretend you’re not _the worst_ for a second,” I tease.

He smiles. “I know exactly what you mean. I’m sorry Hawke’s hurting.”

I nod. I find myself staring up at the ceiling, running my hands across the back of Alistair’s head. The hair is short and prickly against my fingertips—it feels like the only real thing in the world right now. _Is this was derealization is like_?

“Hey, Andy?” says Alistair suddenly.

I blink a few times, trying to bring him into focus.

“Just because this is happening to Hawke and Merrill, it doesn’t mean it’s going to happen to us,” he says. “You know that, right?”

I shrug. He’s really gotten to the crux of it, actually. If Hawke and Merrill can’t make it work, can _anyone_?

He props himself up on his elbows and crawls over me so we’re face to face. “I love you—we’re not going to let anything happen to us… okay?”

I shrug again. “You sound so sure.”

“I _am_ sure.” He kisses my forehead. “I’ve never been so sure about anything.”

 

* * *

 

We manage to get ourselves partially dressed and start our coffee ritual. I'm acutely aware that my minutes with Alistair are ticking away, but this can't be helped. If Garrett needs me, I'll be here for him. God knows he’s done it for me.

He knocks a few minutes later. “Hey,” he says. His entire body looks like it's caving under the weight of gravity. His posture is terrible—I notice that sort of thing now.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He gives me a look that makes me regret asking that. _Of course_ he isn't okay.

“Come in…” I pull him by his shoulder into the kitchen and push him onto a barstool next to Alistair.

“Coffee?” Without waiting for a response, I pour him a cup and slide it to him across the counter.

He sips from the edge without speaking.

“What happened?” I ask.

He looks at me, then Alistair, then back at me. “We had settled everything. I apologized for the other fight and we moved on. We were fine all week… then last night she said she just couldn’t do this anymore—she has things in her life that she hasn’t done yet; there are experiences she wants to have… and I’m holding her back.”

“Oh my god.”

“...and so she’s _gone_ …” He stares off into the distance unblinkingly. “I just didn’t know what to do so I went to the Hanged Man… but they closed eventually… so I’ve been wandering around ever since.”

“You’ve been _outside_ this whole time?” I ask. He looks frozen. He doesn’t even have a proper coat with him.

“More or less.” He shrugs.

“Okay… well, you need a sweater, at least.” I run to my closet—which, incidentally, used to be Alistair’s closet… I took over the good one when he left—and grab a variety of my biggest, bulkiest sweaters.

Hawke manages to _almost_ laugh when I throw the whole pile of them into his arms.

While he’s still sorting through them, Alistair speaks for the first time.

“Do you know where she went?” he asks.

Hawke bites his bottom lip. “She went to the airport.”

“The airport?” I shriek. “Where the hell is she going?”

“To visit her family…” says Hawke. The words are muffled by a sweater he’s forcing over his head. It turns out to be too small, just like most of these will. He’s alarmingly broad when I actually think about it.

“Her family?” I parrot. That’s confusing to me, because in the last 10 years, the only things I’ve ever heard about her family are that they travel a lot. In truth, I always pictured them as part of a second-rate circus—lion tamers, trapeze artists, and bearded women—but I’ve never explicitly asked. She’s never been to see them as long as I’ve known her.

Hawke nods. He’s found a sweater that _sort of_ fits.

“When is she coming back?” I ask.

Alistair raises an eyebrow at me.

“I mean… not that you’d know, I guess…” I mumble.

We stare at each other sadly.

“Well… you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want, Hawke,” I say. It doesn’t make that much sense since he has a _much_ nicer place than I do—it’s a three story townhouse in Back Bay that makes my loft look condemned by comparison.

Nevertheless, he says thanks and agrees to stay indefinitely.

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry we got derailed at the end here,” I say to Alistair, an hour later.

“It’s okay… just a few more weeks of this back and forth,” he says brightly. He’s shouldering his duffle bag in a way that makes me want to die. He’s leaving—again.

“Well, I love you,” I offer.

He kisses my cheek and nuzzles into the crook of my neck. It’s hard to say goodbye to him when he’s intent on being so sweet.

“I’ll call you when I’m back in Brooklyn,” he adds.

I nod. “Okay, and maybe we can get together soon… not next weekend… but maybe the one after?”

“Okay.” He kisses me one more time and then he’s gone—back out into the world.

           

* * *

 

My day passes quickly. I have a few lectures to attend and a grand rounds presentation, which turns out to be more of a hazing by the upper level hospital staff than anything else, and then I’m reversing my course back home. When I get inside, there are things strewn everywhere and a mess of dishes in the sink. Merrill was right about one thing—Hawke needs a _parent_.

“Hawke?” I call.

He doesn’t answer. He’s in the guest room.

“Garrett?” I round the corner and push the door open. He’s in bed, looking pitiful. There’s evidence of hardcore day-drinking all over the room. “Garrett… are you okay?”

He shakes his head and moves over in the bed so I’ll sit next to him.

“All right… come here…” I scoot in next to him and pull a big blanket up to his shoulders. He’s watching a really sad-looking black and white movie with French subtitles. I didn’t even know he spoke French… based on the way he’s ignoring it, maybe he _doesn’t_.

“I’m going to be alone forever,” he blubbers.

“What?” It’s so melodramatic that I almost laugh. It’s absurd because he’s the one who has _always_ had someone. It’s just _today_ that he doesn’t.

“I’m never going to find anyone to love me…” he adds.

“That’s not true, Garr…” I say, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. We’re sitting side by side against the headboard, but it feels like we’re in some kind of college flashback, but in reverse. When Karl and I broke up, I was pretty much inconsolable.

“How do you know?” he asks. He turns his head so we’re almost nose to nose.

“Because I know you… and you’re _great_ ,” I assure him.

And then something happens that I could not have predicted: _he kisses me_.

           

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duh duh duh!!!!! At least you only have to wait until tomorrow....


	6. Week Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders has been avoiding Alistair all week because he doesn't know what to say. He's been avoiding Hawke too, but circumstances force them together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T

* * *

“I think the room is bugged,” I joke. I laugh quietly into the phone and adjust it so Alistair can see my face. “Isabela probably spies on all her guests.”

He laughs. “Maybe we should give her a show…”

I shake my head. “I think she’d like that too much.”

“You're probably right,” laughs Alistair. “So what are you doing at Isabela’s house, anyway?”

“We're all going to brunch in the morning…” I answer. “Then we're having some kind of Hawke-related intervention.”

“That sounds _fun_ …” he laughs.

“Yeah… I'm sure it's going to go over _really well_ ,” I deadpan. “Everyone loves an ambush.”

“What’s the intervention about?” he asks.

 _About not getting drunk and kissing me_?

“About getting on with his life… eating food...  taking showers…” I laugh, “That sort of thing…”

He smiles. I _try_ to smile too, but it feels difficult, like I’m wearing a mask where my face should be.

“I love you,” he says.

“Oh yeah...?” I’m playing coy even as guilt coils in my gut. I haven’t told him about what happened last weekend. I’ve actually been _avoiding_ him, to some extent. I’ve sent quick texts and we’ve chatted, but this is our first FaceTime all week. I’m not sure what to say and the longer I let it go on, the harder it feels.

“Yeah, I think I've said it once or twice…” he jokes. “I haven’t heard _you_ say it, though… for a while…”

He’s totally kidding; I know all the signs… but in my guilt-addled state, it feels like he _knows_ something. I swallow hard.

“I actually have to get going,” I blurt.

He squints. “Really? Right now?”

I fake-yawn. “Yeah… I’m really tired all of a sudden.”

He blinks a couple times. “Really?”

“Yeah… and tomorrow’s going to take a lot out of me,” I add.

“Okay… well…” he adjusts his head on his pillows. He looks rejected, which makes me feel even worse. “I guess just give me a call when you’re more… _rested_ …”

“Okay, great,” I say. “Talk soon.”

I hear him saying that he loves me again, but I hang up before he can finish the sentence. I’m a terrible person and I know it.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Hawke and I run into each other in Isabela and Fenris' kitchen. It’s uncomfortable to be alone together since last weekend, so we’ve largely avoided it. He’s still sleeping at my house, mind you, but I haven’t been in the same room with him since then. I keep finding excuses to leave early and come home late. This morning, though, he seems to have caught me.

“Hey, Andy…” he says. He’s making coffee when I stumble into the kitchen. “Want some coffee?”

I nod. I _want_ to sit at the island counter, but I wonder if I should stay standing—just in case I need a quick exit.

Hawke sees me eyeing the stools and gestures. “Sit? Please?”

I acquiesce. The stools are each a little different. Fenris _made_ them, actually—with his own hands. He’s super good at things like that. _Am I good at anything_? My internal monologue insists my only skill is ruining things. I might as well take an ax to these perfectly imperfect stools while I’m here.

“I’m really sorry about the other night,” says Hawke.

I shrug. My first instinct is to say ‘ _it’s okay, don’t worry_ ,’ but it really _isn’t_ okay. It feels super weird and I’m in a relationship—a serious one—so I don’t say anything.

“I was just really drunk and you were being so nice to me,” he adds.

We blink at each other.

“I realize Alistair must _really_ hate me right now; if you want me to talk to him—to explain it—I can do that,” says Hawke.

“That is not necessary…” I say.

Hawke squints at me in confusion. _Of course_ he thinks I’d tell Alistair what happened right away—I _should_ have done that, but I didn’t.

“Alistair is fine—he understands…” I lie.

“ _Really_?”

I nod. “Yeah… he’s been through a couple really bad breakups… he knows what it’s like.”

Hawke smiles sadly. “Well, he’s more evolved than I am. It would take me a while to get over something like this… I mean… it’s weird enough for him that we dated—even if it was a million years ago.”

_Oh god, this level of guilt hurts—could this be fatal?_

“...but, if you think about it,” adds Hawke. “It’s a lot like what happened with Karl…”

That thought occurred to me last week as I was sliding into bed with him. _Why did I do that again_? This whole thing was _a lot_ like the Karl incident. I just wish Hawke hadn’t thought of it too—it gives it credence.

 

* * *

 

**Over a Decade Ago**

           

“Hawke,” I cry, “I’m going to be alone forever.”

“No you’re not, Andy,” says Hawke.

I’m curled up in the fetal position on his bunk.We’re roommates: he’s the bottom bunk; I’m the top, but I couldn’t manage to climb up there with the weight of rejection pushing me down thirteen times more strongly than gravity ever has.

“I just don’t understand what happened,” I moan. “One second we were _fine_!”

Hawke pushes and pulls me until my head is resting in his lap. Tears instantly start to make dark rivers on his jeans. I’m a mess.

“You’re going to get through this, Andy,” he insists.

“You don’t know that,” I argue. “You’ve never had a breakup like this…”

“That’s true,” he admits. “I haven’t… but I do know what it’s like when you’re crazy about someone and they don’t feel the same way.”

That makes me look up. I can’t imagine anyone _not_ liking Hawke. He’s basically the king of our campus. He goes around throwing parties and doing favors for people and rallying together unlikely comrades. He’s almost solely responsible for our entire friend group. He’s compelling.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Well… there is someone I care about a lot,” he clears his throat and looks down at me. “...this whole year, actually—but he was with someone else.”

“He?” Heretofore, we haven’t discussed Hawke’s orientation.

“Yeah… he’s really great…” Hawke bites his bottom lip. It’s not a _suggestive_ gesture, but it makes me look at his lips differently than I have before. If anything, it makes him look like he’s small and nervous and not totally sure what he should do. It’s not like the Hawke I know. It’s a new, softer, gentler Hawke—it’s _Garrett_.

I sit up without losing eye contact. I’m trying to figure out if he means what I think he means.

“My point is,” he continues. “I know you’re going to get through this—because people do it all the time and because you’re _great_.”

 _It is what I think it is_.

I lean in and kiss him—it’s hard and rough and a little sloppy since I’m still sort of teary. He grabs onto the fabric of my shirt and pulls it up over my head. I know that this isn’t a permanent solution, but Karl is already fading into the recesses of my mind. _I need this_.

 

* * *

 

**Presently**

 

“I mean… if you think back,” Hawke says, “I’m sure you realize that we weren’t really _that_ into each other… it was just the adversity of the situation getting to us.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” I say.

Hawke blushes. “I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t important to me… you were—are,” he stammers, “I just meant… that probably wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t just broken up with Karl… and the thing that happened last week… it definitely wouldn’t have happened without this Merrill situation.”

I shrug.

“So my point is that you don’t have to feel bad—it was just a mistake,” he concludes.

“Yeah… you’re right.” I smile. “Thanks.”

As I sip my coffee in silence, I start to hatch a plan to tell Alistair what happened—it’s the right thing to do.

* * *

 


	7. Week Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders finally tells Alistair about what happened two weeks earlier. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

* * *

“Are you kidding me? We are not fine,” says Alistair. He’s glaring at me through my iPad.

“I _told_ you what happened. I didn’t _lie_ about it…” I mumble.

“That doesn’t make it much better.”

I feel my eyes widening. “How do you figure that!?” I shout. “He got way too drunk. He kissed me. I told him _no_ and left the room. How much better could I have handled that?!”

“Why were you in bed with him in the first place?” asks Alistair.

That’s the question, isn’t it? _Why_? Truthfully, it felt good. We were both wallowing—granted, nothing bad was _actively_ happening to me two weeks ago, but I _remember_ that sadness. I remember the feeling of utter aloneness and disappointment when Alistair and I broke up the first time.

And… if I'm honest with myself, cuddling up in bed with Hawke is familiar. It reminds me of college and the wistful feeling we used to have about our lives.

“...and,” Alistair adds, “why did it take you _two fucking weeks_ to tell me?”

I take exception to his tone, but I have no good argument. I open and close my mouth a few times, inhaling and huffing, but no words come out.

“Anders…” huffs Alistair. “I _love_ you. I don’t understand why you would do this. I know a single kiss isn’t inherently a big deal… but I feel like this is a sign that we aren’t doing as well as I thought we were.”

I try to argue, but he cuts me off.

“—I just don’t understand why infidelity is such a big theme in our lives.”

_Me neither._

“I need to go…” he says suddenly.

“Please don’t.” I bring the camera closer to my face so he’ll see how sincere I am. “Don’t leave like this…”

“I’m not leaving ‘ _like anything_ ’,” he says. “I just need a little space. I don’t want to say something I regret...”

Old Anders would have argued with that—pushed him until he really _did_ say something. But I’m not that person anymore, so I let him hang up.

 

* * *

 

I drag myself through the day. It feels impossible to move forward—like crawling through rapidly-drying cement. I want to talk to Hawke about it—since he’s the only other person who knows what happened—but I can’t because he thinks I already told Alistair about this when it first happened (like a sensible person would have).

Instead of dealing with it, I throw myself into school and try to make good decisions about food and hydration and exercise. The only things I can control are self-care-related and I’m going to need to employ all my tools to get through this.

That night, I find myself at the Hanged Man.

“Hey,” says Hawke. He’s sitting in his usual seat. Isabela is next to him.

I flop into the seat on his other side and let my elbows rest on the bar.

“What’s going on, Buddy?” he asks.

I groan. I don’t really want to tell him why I’m upset, since it means I’ll have to explain that I lied to him last week, but I do it anyway.

“I told Alistair about what happened,” I say.

Isabela elbows Hawke in the ribs. “ _See_?” she cackles, “I told you he didn’t tell Al last week!”

Hawke shakes his head like he’s disappointed in me.

“I know… I’m an ass…” I mumble.

“He really hates me _now_ , doesn’t he?” asks Hawke. He looks equally embarrassed and sorry; I feel terrible.

“No… he hates _me_ ,” I answer.

“He doesn’t,” says Isabela flatly. “He’s crazy about you.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you’d talked to him this morning,” I argue.

Isabela leans across Hawke to look me in the face. “We have bigger problems than this to deal with today…” She looks at Hawke pointedly.

“Oh…”

“Yeah,” Hawke sighs, “Merrill called this morning. She’s not coming home.”

“What?”

“...yeah… ever,” Hawke adds.

Isabela rolls her eyes. “That’s not true, Hawke… She just hasn’t booked a return ticket yet. We need to change her mind.”

They both look at me expectantly—as if I’m someone who can fix this.

“Where is she?” I ask.

“Out in San Francisco with her cousins,” answers Hawke.

“I still think you should go out there and get her,” says Isabela. “Grand gesture style.”

“You could do that,” I mumble. I squint at the woodgrain of the bar and try to think. It’s hard for me to know what to do because the way Merrill’s brain works is a lot different than mine.

“I don’t think that would help,” says Hawke. “She doesn’t really respond to being chased.”

“I think you need to wait this out,” I say.

“That doesn’t sound like a very Anders-y thing to say,” says Isabela.

I laugh. “It isn’t, really… but I’m learning that waiting is the right thing to do in lots of situations…”

They sigh.

“It certainly doesn’t feel _good_ , though,” I add. “I just wish Alistair would _call_ …”

“Oh, are we back on _your_ thing now?” laughs Isabela.

“Sorry…”

Hawke laughs. He moves his hand like he’s going to pat my knee, but he stops short. I understand why, but it highlights how weird everything is right now.

“I don’t actually want to keep talking about Merrill, anyway,” he offers. “Let’s talk about _you_ , Bel…”

“Thank god—I never thought this day would come,” she laughs.

“What’s new?” I ask.

“Well… my store is doing great,” she says. “I’m expanding to designer recycled denim in the spring.”

“For men?” I ask. Even though I’m not usually into shopping, I really like clothes that fit.

She pouts. “Not this season… maybe next one?”

Hawke laughs. _Nothing_ even fits him. As bad as those sweaters were the other week, pants are harder—his quads never fit in anything. I remember shopping with him during the brief period we were dating—it was a comedy of errors.

 

* * *

 

**Over a Decade Ago**

           

“You have to at least come out,” I say.

Hawke snorts.

I suppose I walked right into that one. His own coming out as bisexual went over pretty smoothly at school—New England universities are like that. And so far, none of our friends have given us any relationship-pushback. We’ve been together for exactly two weeks, which, by college standards is a year. Since we’re already roommates, we’ve spent a lot of those nights cuddling and talking until the sun came up. We haven’t done anything _else_ yet, but I feel like it’s coming…

Right now, I would settle for getting him out of the dressing room. He’s been in there for fifteen minutes. I want to open the door and see what he’s doing, but he didn’t invite me, so I’m not going to push it.

“I can’t come out like this,” says Hawke.

I let my head fall painfully against the door. “Why?”

“Because my quads are ridiculously huge,” he says.

I laugh, “Are you bragging?”

“No, it’s just stupid…” he says. “You can come in here and see, though… if you want to laugh.” He opens the door ajar.

“I always want to laugh,” I say, stepping inside.

When I get in there, he’s standing pitifully with the jeans halfway up one leg. The funniest part is the pouty look of defeat he’s wearing.

“See? Ridiculous…” he grumbles.

I cup his cheek in my hand. “I think you look adorable—I prefer you undressed, I think.” It’s a brave thing for me to say, considering I haven’t actually _seen_ him naked yet.

He smirks.

“Besides…” I raise an eyebrow. “I think it’s bragging rights to have a boyfriend with super muscular legs…”

I expect him to laugh or smile or kiss me, but he doesn’t. His face falls, actually.

“ _What_?”

“...um…” he clears his throat. He’s turning red. “I’m not sure we’re _there_ yet…”

I squint. I haven’t a clue what he means.

“...boyfriend?” he adds.

_Oh._

We say some things that mitigate the situation—words I won’t remember because of the whooshing in my ears. I thought we were doing something really different than what we were actually doing. It doesn’t stop us from fooling around for the next few weeks, but eventually it dissolves into something else entirely…

 

* * *

 

**Presently**

….into a friendship I _still_ have—one I really care about. When I think about it, Hawke and I just don’t _fit_ in a romantic relationship. I’m those pants that he can’t pull over his quads. But Merrill isn’t. _They_ fit since day one. So, assuming she hasn’t shrunk in the wash, there _has_ to be a way to fix this.

“Why don’t you call her and tell her you need to talk in person?” I ask.

They both look at me. I think they were onto a new conversation already. I was so lost in thought that I haven’t been listening.

“You don’t think he’s already done that?” asks Isabela.

“I mean… without any emotion attached—just honestly,” I say. “Tell her you respect where she’s coming from and you’ll stand by whatever decision the two of you come to, but that you need to be given the chance to come to it together.”

They look dumbfounded. I guess I _can_ be clever.

“Okay, Anders…” says Hawke finally. “On one condition.”

“What?”

“You need to deal with Alistair that frankly too…” he says.

I sigh. “You drive a hard bargain…”

He smiles.

“...but you’re right.”

* * *

 


	8. Week Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Alistair bury the hatchet and have brunch with Cullen and Dorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite one of the whole challenge. Lots of really adorable Dorian and Cullen moments.

* * *

“I’m ready to try again, if you are.” I clear my throat and swallow hard.

Alistair looks at me consideringly. “You came all the way here to tell me that?”

I nod.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because I don’t want to break up again,” I explain. I step into the doorway and wrap my arms around him in what turns out to be a _squeezing_ hug. “I love you and I don’t want to fall into old habits.”

He kisses the side of my head and whispers, “You didn’t have to drive all the way here to tell me that… I had no intention of letting you get away.”

We pull back enough to look into each other’s eyes.

“Are we okay?” I ask.

He nods. “Yeah… we’re okay… I might punch Hawke when I see him, though.”

“Please don’t… it wasn’t really his fault.” As soon as I’ve said that, I realize that doesn’t paint me in a flattering light. “I mean… it wasn’t really _anyone’s_ fault.”

He glares at me, but he’s still smiling underneath it.

“Listen… can I stay with you tonight?” I ask.

He nods.

“Okay, well, I need to go find a parking space—I’m double parked and it’s likely that the city of Brooklyn has already towed my car away…” I laugh. “Driving into the city was probably a mistake, but I couldn’t wait for the train.”

“Yikes…” he says. “I’ll come down and help you find one. Sometimes there are spots two blocks over.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning, we wake up together when Dorian calls Alistair’s phone. Alistair picks it up on speaker.

“Yeah?” he growls.

“Hello, Sunshine…” says Dorian. “Where are you?”

“Oh shit…” Alistair breathes. “I totally forgot.”

“Sorry, Dorian,” I say. “I kept him up really late last night.”

“Is that Anders?” asks Dorian.

“Yeah…” I say.

“What are you doing in our neighborhood?” he asks. “Did you wash out of school?”

I know he’s teasing, but he wouldn’t be if he knew I washed out once before. It’s not a funny joke. Alistair kisses my cheek in a clandestine act of solidarity.

“Well, Alistair is supposed to be meeting us for brunch—about ten minutes ago,” says Dorian.

“Sorry, Dor,” says Alistair. “Are you still at your place?”

“Yes… but at this point, we should meet wherever we want to go or we’re going to have to wait in line for an hour,” he says.

“Okay—what about that place on Gold Star that I like?” asks Alistair.

“Yes—half an hour. Don’t be late.” Dorian hangs up.

           

* * *

 

As we walk toward the restaurant, hand in hand, it occurs to me that we haven’t spent any significant time with Dorian and Cullen as a couple. In all the years we’ve known each other, I’ve mostly just hated Cullen from afar. Dorian is funny, but I am kind of scared of him. He’s exactly the type of person who terrifies me into silence—afraid that I’m not witty or bright enough to keep up. The fact that Alistair routinely tells me how brilliant he is doesn’t help.

“Are you ready for this?” asks Alistair.

“What do you mean?”

“Cullen and Dorian are going to judge the shit out of you,” he says. “They’re the worst.”

“Why are you friends with them again?” I laugh.

He jabs me with an elbow, but then shrugs. “I don’t know, actually.”

We both laugh.

“I think I’m going to be fine… after all, _you_ like me,” I say.

“I do, actually…” he pushes me with his shoulder. “So here’s my advice—destabilize them quickly. Ask them about Mia right off the bat and they’ll melt into goo about her before they have a chance to scrutinize why you’re here.”

“Does it matter if they know why I’m here?”

He looks embarrassed. “Well… they know we’ve had kind of a rocky past…”

“Oh.”

“It’s not like they think we shouldn’t be together… they just don’t know if we’re going to last,” he admits.

I’m flushed. It isn’t that I’m specifically _angry_ —I just want to prove them wrong—so badly it hurts. After all, my friends have voiced similar concerns along the way.

“They don’t _want_ us to break up… they’re just worrying about me…” he adds.

I laugh, “That’s rich—coming from the guy who almost broke us up…”

“That was a lifetime ago,” argues Alistair.

I huff.

Alistair steps in front of me so I’ll stop walking. “This is exactly opposite of what we should be doing right now… we need to be a united front. Please, Andy… I want them to see us at our best.”

I feel my shoulders slump. “Fine.”

“Besides… I’ll _owe_ you.” He winks.

That finally nets him a small smile. I’m extremely susceptible to flirting.

“Okay… let’s do this.”

 

* * *

 

“Finally,” says Dorian around the corner.

Cullen, who is hovering over his shoulder, smiles when he sees us.

“Hi,” I say, nodding to both of them. “Where’s your daughter?”

Cullen smiles at me. “With my parents. They are in town for the week and offered to take her this morning so we can be adults.” He looks at Dorian like he’s the best person he’s ever seen in his life.

I don’t want to, but I feel insanely jealous at that look. As if Alistair doesn’t look at me like that almost every time I see him. Of course… he didn’t in the last week… not until I chased him across state lines. I swallow around a lump in my throat. I feel like this is tenuous—I’m playing a part instead of just living.

A host comes to get us before I can fall further into my internal spiral of self-doubt—thankfully. We’re shown to a booth in the back, right next to a huge window. It’s freezing outside, but the sun is reflecting off the snow everywhere. It’s bright and warm in the booth.

“So… what are you two up to this weekend?” asks Cullen.

Alistair and I look at each other. It feels like we’re already about to crumble, but I remember what he said—that I should destabilize them quickly—so I default to a joke.

“I don’t think you really want to know.” I smirk.

Dorian laughs. Cullen’s eyes widen fractionally.

Then I pull it back, “How’s Mia doing these days?” I ask.

Cullen’s expression softens considerably. “She’s great…” He pulls his phone out to show me some recent pictures. Even though Dorian was the first one to show me pictures of her, I gather that Cullen is the more frequent photographer. He has dozens of shots of her playing in the snow, eating messy food, and rolling around on the floor in the midst of mountains of stuffed animals. When he’s shown me forty or fifty slides of her in rapid succession, the server interrupts us.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asks.

We order one by one. I settle on a highly savory bloody mary—it has a clamato base.

“Anyway… enough about Mia,” says Dorian. “Let’s be adults for an hour.”

Cullen shrugs and puts his phone away.

We all stare at each other. Because our drinks haven’t come yet, we don’t have much to do with our hands or mouths. I find myself counting ceiling tiles.

“So… how’s school going?” asks Cullen.

It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me.

“Oh… it’s good—I’m _tired_ … but I’m getting through it. I’m about to pick my residency for next year,” I answer.

“Wow… I feel like that went by really fast…” he says.

It did—he doesn’t know that I already had a whole year under my belt. To him, it probably seems like I’ve skipped a year somehow.

Alistair interrupts to save me. “I feel like life is going by way too fast these days… don’t you feel like Mia is growing every time you see her?”

Cullen smiles and looks at something in the distance—a memory maybe? As much as I want to keep hating him, I can’t—he’s adorable about his little girl. If I ever have kids, I hope I feel one tenth of the love he feels for little Mia. I wonder if I will—have kids. As that thought occurs to me, I find myself looking at Alistair lopsidedly. If I squint, I can picture him swinging a little boy in our back yard.

“I know what you mean,” says Dorian, who isn’t so easily distracted, “but hasn’t it only been three years since you started, Anders?”

_Oh no. I’m caught._

“It has… Anders is in an accelerated program,” lies Alistair. “It’s a new addition at BU… just in the last five years.”

I wonder how that’s going to go over, but Dorian accepts it as fact almost instantly. He nods at me. “You must be even more tired than we were, then.” He smiles and looks up, just as our drinks arrive.

I have never been so happy to have something to do with my mouth… well… something that I can do in public.

“I am pretty tired… but I’m almost there…” I say. “If I can just get through the rest of this term, I’ll be golden.”

“So what are you going to specialize in?” asks Cullen.

“I’ve actually decided on sports medicine,” I say.

Alistair’s eyes snap up to me like this is news to him.

“I was going back and forth between ortho and sports… and I finally landed on sports med because it really works with my training background,” I explain. Then I turn to Alistair and cup his cheek in my hand. “Besides… I know the best orthopedist in the world if someone needs a referral.”

Everyone laughs except Alistair, who turns beet red and can’t seem to think of anything to say at all.

“That sounds perfect for you, Anders,” says Cullen. “I actually bet we’ll be seeing some of the same patients…”

“Really?” I don’t know what he means.

“Yeah… I see a lot of elite athletes—the pressure is a lot for them,” he explains.

“Oh. I can absolutely imagine that.”

“Do you have a particular sport in mind?” Cullen asks.

“Not yet… but I’ve applied to a residency that has a contract with Boston Ballet,” I say. “If I get that one… maybe I’ll work mostly with dancers.”

“Well, they will _definitely_ need psychiatric help,” cackles Dorian. “I dated the premier danseur of _Ballet West i_ n college… what a _diva_.”

Cullen rolls his eyes.

Alistair laughs. “Didn’t he come to visit us in our first apartment, Dor?”

Dorian’s expression goes flat. “You must be thinking of someone else.”

Alistair scowls. I have a feeling that ballet dancer _did_ visit them, but Dorian isn’t willing to admit it with his husband sitting on his left. I wonder _why_. Their relationship is so confusing to me. It isn’t as if my own relationship is crystal clear—not by a long shot—but I don’t really understand Cullen or Dorian as individuals, let alone as a pair.

“I hope you get it, Anders,” says Cullen.

“He will,” interrupts Alistair. He looks at me encouragingly. “He’s one of the best in his class.”

“How do you know that?” I ask.

“You told me,” he deadpans.

Everyone laughs.

“No… I still have a bunch of friends in the department—I did some digging.”

“You did not.” I punch his shoulder playfully.

He shrugs. I’m not sure what that means.

“Seriously, Anders,” says Cullen. He looks right at me. “Good luck.”

When we make eye contact it occurs to me that he’s _very_ hard to look at up close. He’s too attractive and too put-together-looking for this kind of scrutiny. As bitter as I (still) am, I totally get why it took Alistair a while to kick him out of the apartment all those years ago. He’s compelling.

“Thank you.”

Dorian clears his throat. “So what’s next for you two?”

Alistair and I look at each other. It occurs to me all at once that he hasn’t told them he’s leaving Brooklyn.

“Well,” Alistair clears his throat and puts a hand on my knee. “I’m moving back to Boston.”

Dorian’s mouth falls open. “You’re doing what?!”

“I’m moving back to Boston…” repeats Alistair.

Dorian rolls his eyes, but Cullen looks like he expected this.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner… but we’re…” he looks at me. “We’re not going to live apart anymore… it’s been too many years like this…”

I feel my face crack into a ridiculous smile. I can’t believe how much I love him.

“I knew _that_ ,” says Dorian. He rolls his eyes again. “I just thought you’d have the sense to stay _here_ —in the best city in the world.”

“I can’t…” says Alistair. “Anders needs to stay in Boston until he’s licensed…”

I’m not super thrilled that he’s blaming _me_ for this, but it’s true…

“Besides… you know I love Boston…” he adds.

“Yeah, yeah…” says Dorian. “I guess we’ll visit whenever we can…”

Cullen puts an arm around Dorian’s shoulder. The gesture confuses me at first, but then Dorian does something that instantly changes my opinion of him forever. He runs the cuff of his sleeve across his cheeks. Is he _crying_? Oh my god—he is. He’s making such a fuss about this because he’s going to _miss_ Alistair. If I weren’t on the inside of the booth, I would stand up and hug him. Alistair really _does_ have a best friend.

“We’ll get together every month,” says Alistair. He looks sort of teary too.

“We had better…” says Dorian. “And you better take care of him, Anders… he’s terrible at handling himself…”

We smile at each other and I _know_ —we’re _all_ friends now.

* * *

 


	9. Week Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill turns up unexpectedly. Anders is instrumental in what happens next.

* * *

“The way you flirt is shameful,” Alistair laughs.

I smirk. “I’m just trying to get Dorian to like me—I’m meeting him where he lives.”

“I heard that,” yells Dorian from the other room. I can see his shadow in the background behind Alistair’s head.

We snicker together like children.

“...and I don’t like you _at all_ ,” adds Dorian.

“He doesn’t mean that,” says Alistair. “If anything, that means he _loves_ you—I’ve heard him say it to Cullen a million times.”

“I heard that too!” yells Dorian.

“God… your hearing is bionic!” Alistair shouts back.

In the week since our brunch together, I’ve committed myself to being friends with Dorian. I’m going to _try_ to be Cullen’s friend too, but I think that might be more of a challenge. If I can just _tolerate_ him, that will be a win.

“So… what are you three doing tonight?” I ask.

“Three?” he laughs. “There are _four_ of us here… Mia was the guest of honor at our dinner party this evening.”

I laugh.

“How old is she again?” I ask.

“She’s like 2?” He doesn’t sound sure.

“When we have kids, I hope you keep track of their ages better…” I blurt.

The expression that washes over his face is halfway between elation and horror. That’s sort of how I feel about kids too.

“Do you think about that a lot?” he asks. He’s speaking really quietly now. I wonder if he’s afraid Dorian is still listening.

I nod. “I do, actually.”

“Me too…”

We smile. Although facetime isn’t a perfect approximation of what he looks like, I can see how adorably happy he is—that’s good enough for me.

“Anyway… I better get going… I need to check in with the gang—they’re at the Hanged Man waiting for me.”

Alistair grimaces.

“What?”

“Is Hawke going to be there?” he asks.

I bite my bottom lip. “Yeah… he is.”

“Great…”

“Love… he apologized, you know… he didn’t mean for things to go that way…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Alistair argues. “It means he has that lurking inside, somewhere deep.”

“No it doesn’t. He was just drunk and confused.” I don’t really believe it, though. When I think about that night, I know something wasn’t right. I’m just not sure what. In fact, I’m not sure how much of it was _me_. That’s the really scary part.

“Fine… just… call me when you get home, okay?” he asks.

I raise an eyebrow. I’m not about to let him make me feel guilty about hanging out with my friends.

“Okay… that was stupid and possessive,” he amends. “Just call me because you love me and because you miss me… not because you _have to_.”

“Sounds good. Bye, Love.” I hang up.

 

* * *

 

When I get to the Hanged Man, I’m met by someone I don’t expect. Merrill is waiting for me outside. She’s hiding in the shadows, arms wound around her waist. She’s so thin that she could probably make a complete circle with her forearms. I know she’s always been thin, but in this scenario, she seems skeletal—it scares me.

“Hi, Andy,” she says. Her voice is high and pinched.

“Hi…” I rush up to her and put my hands on her shoulders. “How are you?”

She starts to smile, but it’s forced. She eventually settles on a shrug.

“When did you get back?” I ask.

“Just this morning,” she answers. “I thought about going to the house straight away, but I kept stopping myself…”

I nod, but I actually don’t know what she means. I haven’t heard any of this from her side, after all. It gives me an idea.

“Hey, Merrill… let’s not go in there…”

She squints at me.

“...not yet. Let’s go have dinner at that Chinese place around the corner and try to sort through this… before…”

She nods. “Okay, let’s go.”

We don’t say anything else until we’re seated with piping hot cups of tea in our hands. She inhales the steam and sighs with effort. It looks like every breath hurts her. I remember that feeling—possibly even more clearly than I remember the things Hawke has been going through.

“So… start at the beginning,” I prompt.

She clears her throat and looks up at me through her eyelashes. Her eyes are ridiculously big—were they always like that?

“I have been unhappy for a long time,” she begins.

“Really?” I blurt. I don’t mean for it to come out like an accusation, but it sort of sounds like one. I’m just _really_ surprised. I never saw any signs.

“Yeah… I need to do more _and_ less,” she says.

“What?”

She laughs bitterly. “That doesn’t make any sense… let me begin again: I want to do more with my life. I’m not happy teaching anymore. I want to work for some kind of a foundation or nonprofit organization.”

“Oh… that sounds wonderful,” I interrupt. “What kind of a nonprofit?”

She smiles. “Something for LGBT youth, maybe… or homeless children… maybe the intersection of those two groups…”

I nod. “Sorry to interrupt.”

She shakes her head and swallows. “It’s okay. So anyway… I’ve been thinking about that lately… and I want to do something _big_ like that…”

I nod.

“...and I tried to tell Garrett that…” she pauses, “And he says it’s great—that he thinks I’d be great at that—but he hasn’t done anything to help me achieve that idea… I mean… it isn’t as if I’ve asked for much: just a little support; maybe some name-dropping with some of his mother’s friends…”

I purse my lips. I’m trying to reserve judgement until she’s had a chance to explain the whole thing.

“...but he isn’t really behind me. He’s too wrapped up in his own stupid things: taking care of his family business; doing favors for people he barely knows…” she says. “He can’t even keep the house together when I’m not there.”

“But, Merrill… he would never stand in your way—” I start to interrupt.

She shakes her head vehemently. “That’s just it… he won’t stand in my way, but he won’t stand _beside_ me, either.”

I don’t have a good argument for that. Hawke, despite all his great qualities, isn’t much of a trailblazer. I’ve often thought that life just _happens_ to him… I’ve even been instrumental in that; we all have. We make choices that change our collective lives and he rolls with the punches. In some ways, it’s his best quality… just not right now—not when Merrill needs him.

“He isn’t ready, Andy…not for this,” says Merrill sadly. “Maybe he never will be…”

I feel my head shake without my express consent. It hurts to hear her say that—like every relationship in the world is just doomed to irreconcilable differences.

“Don’t, Andy…” She reaches her hand across the table to touch the back of my forearm. “Don’t worry… this doesn’t mean we can’t be friends anymore.”

“So you’ve decided already, then?” I ask.

She nods. “I wasn’t sure until right now…”

 

* * *

 

The rest of the night passes painfully. As soon as Hawke sees Merrill at the Hanged Man, his whole face lights up, which makes me want to die a little—I know what’s coming. They go back to their place together to sort things out, but I can imagine what happens. I think Isabela can too, once she catches of glimpse of my face. I’m terrible at poker.

“So it’s over?” she asks, once they’re gone.

I shrug, but we both already know. This is the end of an era.

Fenris shows up a few minutes later. He sits between us and kisses Isabela’s head. At least _their_ relationship seems to be functioning.

“How are you, Andy?” asks Fenris. “I haven’t seen you in an age.”

“I’m okay… this whole thing with Merrill was pretty shocking…” I sigh. “But other than that, I’m great. How are you?”

Fenris smiles. “I’m great… I’m about to start curating art and decor on a really cool new house…”

He tells me all about it—it’s ultramodern, situated right off the Boston Commons. It’s estimated to cost over five million when it’s done. Who has that much money and why are they spending it on houses?

We all laugh and drink and—for a moment—manage to forget that our two other best friends are having the worst night of their adult lives. Eventually, we have to go home, though, and reality settles back in on the sidewalk.

“Andy?” says Isabela. She wraps her hand around my waist and pulls me into a side hug. “I love you and no matter what happens with them, they’re both going to keep loving you too.”

Fenris nods. It’s the closest he’ll ever come to saying something like that and it means a lot to me. Each one of his gestures has more weight because he uses so few words. Stoicism has its perks, I guess.

“I love you guys, too.”

 

* * *

 

Back inside my apartment, I look at my phone for the first time all night. The group text has two new additions.

 **Hawke** : We wanted to tell you that we’re not getting back together. Merrill is moving out. Don’t be sad—we’re okay. We want to give each other time to grow and change… and it doesn’t make our relationship mean any less just because it didn’t last. We were really important for each other. Now we’re moving on.

 **Merrill** : I’m going out to San Fran for a while. I hope that all of you will come visit me… and I’m not giving up the group text. I love all of you more than you’ll ever know.

Wow. This is the most mature breakup I’ve ever heard of. Of course, it’s going to hurt—I’m sure they’re already hurting like crazy. But still… they’re thanking each other for the time. They’re moving into the future.

I set my coat on the back of a chair and type.

 **Anders** : I love both of you so much. I’m in awe of how well you’re handling this. Please let me know if there’s any way I can help you.

 **Merrill** : I need help packing…

 **Isabela** : oh… I think I’m going to be out of town… whenever that happens. ;)

 **Fenris** : I’ll be there… I’ll bring Bela too…

I laugh.

 **Anders** : I’ll help Fen wrangle her.

           

* * *

 

I’m super exhausted, but there’s one more person I need to contact. I get into bed and facetime Alistair.

“Hello?” he croaks. It’s really late; he must have been sleeping.

“Hi? Sorry to wake you.”

He shifts and moves the camera so I can see his face. He looks so sleepy.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. He blinks and manages to seem slightly more alert.

“Yeah… totally…. I just wanted to tell you how much I love you.”

He smiles. “That’s nice.”

“And…” I swallow hard. “Hawke and Merrill broke up—for real.”

His eyes widen. “Wow. really?”

“Yeah… but it wasn’t _bad_ —in fact, I think it might be good… they might need this,” I say. “They became different people and needed to move on.”

He nods. “I’m sorry, though… it’s always hard to see things change.”

I nod. “Yeah, it is.”

He looks at me expectantly. “What _else_ did you want to say?”

I laugh. “You know me way too well…”

“Come on, tell me.”

“I just want to make sure this doesn’t happen to us. I want us to be solid…” I say.

He shrugs. “I mean… we’ve talked about this before: there are no guarantees…. But I’ll tell you this, Andy… I love you and I think that we are learning to grow and change _together_.” He pauses for emphasis, “...and that’s the key.”

I nod. “I love you, Alistair… just two weeks left.”

“Yup…” He sighs. “Speaking of which, I think I’m going to be able to sleep there in 13 days… I won’t have all my stuff yet, but I’ll have you and a bed, so…”

“Perfect. I’m going to make a paper chain link countdown.”

He laughs. “Goodnight, Andy.”

“Goodnight.”

* * *

 


	10. Week Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What begins as a fun evening for Alistair turns serious in the course of two unexpected house guests. Anders watches the whole thing over facetime.

* * *

“No,” pants Alistair. “I’m tired of doing what you say.” He’s looking at me dangerously on the screen of my ipad. His arm is still moving, even though I told him to stop.

“What are you going to do about it?” he goads. “Punish me?”

I groan into the pillows. I’m splayed out on my stomach, completely naked, thrusting against the bedspread. I can feel sweat beading against my forehead. I want him so much it hurts.

“When I see you again, you’re going to be in so much trouble,” I threaten.

“Oh yeah?” he goads. “What will that be like?”

“I'm going to tie you up,” I blurt. I have never actually done that to him before. I've never done it to _anyone_ , actually, although I've been on the receiving end a couple times. It's not my thing… but I think it _would_ be the other way around.

“Ooh. That sounds fun,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he growls. I can still see him touching himself. “And what if I struggle?”

I raise an eyebrow, “then I'll have to hold you down…”

“I'd like to see you try,” he says.

I've never really wrestled with him, but I have a feeling we're pretty evenly matched. He's heavier than I am, but I think I'm intrinsically more stable—I'm still a trainer at heart.

“What if I tied you down and forced you to watch me get off?” I ask. “I’ll groan and whine and rub my thumb across the head of my dick while you lick your lips uselessly…”

He bites his lip. His arm seems to have stilled.

“You like that, huh?”

He nods. “I like it when you're a little mean…”

“Yeah?”

I’m about to tell him something _really_ dirty—something to do with one of those other toys in my bottom drawer—when someone bangs on his door. It makes him jump.

“Hold on…” He takes a deep breath and puts his dick away. I hear him cross the apartment and open the door. I can hear someone: it’s Dorian (and maybe another voice?) on the other side.

“Yeah… of course—come in,” says Alistair.

My dick is grouchy, but I’m curious to hear what’s going on, so I grab some shorts and sprawl myself across the bed in a non-sexual way.

“Hey,” says Alistair a second later. He grabs the phone and brings it into the living room. “Dorian and Mia are here. Something’s going on…”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

He flips the camera around to show me Mia curled into Dorian’s chest. She’s crying quietly. Her expression tells me that she was crying _much_ harder a few minutes ago.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Dorian shushes Mia and rubs a hand down the back of her head, smoothing the hair. “Someone broke into our place,” he answers quietly. “But it is all _okay_ …” the voice he uses now is clearly for her benefit. “...because Daddy was there and the police came… and no one got hurt, right?”

Mia nods, but she doesn’t look sure.

Alistair flips the camera around to show me his own face again. “Cullen is giving a statement, but Dorian and Mia wanted to get out of there… I need to get them set up. Can I call you in the morning?”

“Of course. Love you.”

“Love you too,” says Alistair. He hangs up.

 

* * *

 

I manage to fall asleep, but I have a lot of nightmares. I’m slightly haunted by seeing Mia like that. I don’t even really _know_ her, but it was heartbreaking. In the morning, I call Alistair first thing.

“Hey, Sweetie,” he says. He sets the phone his countertop so I can see him. He’s at the same stage in his coffee routine that I am.

“How’s everything going?” I ask.

He shrugs. “About as well as you would expect. Cullen got here at like 2am after finishing with the police.”

“Did Mia fall asleep okay?” I ask.

“I think so. I let them sleep in my room and crashed on the couch,” he says. “They’ll probably be getting up soon.”

Just as he says that, I see the door behind him open and Dorian wander out into the kitchen. He looks ridiculously good in the morning. That’s the sort of thing I _try_ not to notice about people who are not my boyfriend, but it’s impossible in this case. He looks like he’s about to walk a runway at fashion week.

“Hi, Anders,” he says, tipping his head in my direction.

“Hi. How are you?”

“Doing okay,” he answers. He sits at the island counter and sips a coffee. Alistair handed it to him so quickly that I didn’t even see him do it. “Mia finally fell asleep when Cullen came home. He’s still sleeping with her now.”

I’m picturing her cuddled up in between them, sucking her thumb. It’s such a cute image, I’m sure I’m grinning stupidly.

“He was rather shaken, though,” adds Dorian.

Alistair nods. “Yeah… I’m not surprised…” He turns to me, “The burglars broke in through Mia’s window.”

“Oh god.”

Dorian runs a hand across his face. “You know, I was convinced that was the house we were going to raise our kids in…”

Alistair looks at me for just a fraction of a second, but I see it. Did he just say _‘kids’_? As in _plural_?

“...but now I’m not so sure…” finishes Dorian.

Alistair puts a hand on his shoulder. “It could have happened anywhere, Dor… life is unpredictable…”

From my vantage point on the counter, I can see the whole room. It’s slightly distorted, but it’s all there. The entire morning is playing out like some kind of macabre television show.

Dorian shakes his head, “Well, it never happened when I lived in Boston… In fact, I’m thinking about moving out of a city all together… what if we lived in a Boston suburb? Wellesley?” He looks at me through the screen, as if _I’m_ the expert on all Boston suburbs.

I shrug. “It’s a really nice town… good school system.”

“Exactly,” says Dorian. “See, Al? You should listen to your boyfriend and get out of the city before you even think about having kids.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” mumbles Alistair. He’s blushing.

“Oh stop,” says Dorian. He touches the side of Alistair’s face and laughs. “Everyone knows you’re crazy about each other… it’s not much of a leap…besides, Mia needs friends.”

Alistair shrugs and turns back to the coffee maker to refill his mug.

“What about Brookline?” I suggest. “It still has more of a city-ish feel… or Newton? Chestnut Hill?”

Dorian nods thoughtfully.

“Are you definitely coming back?” asks Alistair suddenly. It occurs to me that he’s too afraid to hope. He has always lived near Dorian—he’s going to miss him terribly if they’re separated.

Dorian shrugs. “I have no idea… it hasn’t even been twelve hours yet. I just…” he pauses. “I never want to see that look on her face again.”

The thought is sobering.

They both look up as Cullen sneaks out of the door to Alistair’s room. Dorian stands and hugs him the second he can. His chin rests on Cullen’s shoulder like they’re made for each other. This whole experience is making me think about them differently. It’s very hard to keep hating Cullen when he is being such a good husband and father right now.

“Hey, Anders,” he waves to me and sits at the island without completely letting go of Dorian. “I’m voting for Back Bay… it’s still downtown, but it’s super neighborhood-ish.”

Dorian smiles. “We need a hell of a security system.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” I say. I wish I could reach out and hug Alistair—just so we’d seem like we were on the same level as they are. I’ve never seen a couple do this well after a crisis. It’s even more poignant, considering that Hawke and Merrill just broke up. Heretofore, they were my only example of a successful, adult relationship… and well… that didn’t work out like I predicted it would.

“Okay, well, I think we’re going to go wake up Mia,” says Dorian. “I’m sure we’ll talk to you later, Anders.”

I nod and wave.

When they’re gone, Alistair picks up the phone and walks it into the living room.

“That’s a hell of a thing…” he says.

I nod.

“It makes me miss you like crazy,” he adds. “I am done with waiting… how many days do we have left?”

“Six.”

“God… Saturday can’t come soon enough,” he says.

“Well, you’ll have a lot to do before then,” I say. “You don’t even seem like you’ve started packing.”

He laughs. “I really haven’t…”

“...and you’ll have to help Cullen and Dorian with some things, I’m sure.”

He nods.

“I love you. Call me tomorrow.”

“Bye, Andy…”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to Aurlana for the assist on this one. :) Sometimes I need a word wrangler.


	11. Week Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair moves in.

* * *

“Honey, I’m home!” I call.

Alistair is sitting at the counter. He laughs when he sees me.

“I love that you live here.”

“Me too,” he says. “It feels so nostalgic. I need to take a quick shower. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Where would I go?” he laughs.

I shrug. I’m giddy.

When I’m done, I wrap a towel around my waist and push my hair out of my eyes. Alistair is still sitting where I left him with his laptop. Reading over his shoulder, I notice he’s looking at commercial property rentals.

“What’s all that?” I ask, curling my arms around his neck.

He turns his head to kiss my cheek and speaks into the skin. “I’m thinking about opening a practice…”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Not like… tomorrow… but sometime.”

“I didn’t know you wanted to do that.”

“It’s a new idea—I just thought of it over the last few weeks,” he says. “I don’t know that I want to be stuck in academia for the rest of my life—especially considering all the bureaucratic bullshit.”

“Well, I'm sure you'd be great at it,” I say, tightening my arms around him.

He smiles at the screen. “Thanks…”

We sigh together, breathing in tandem.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” I ask. It's not even 8pm, but I can't think of any reason to stay up.

He turns and stands in one smooth movement. “Do you mean upstairs to _our_ bedroom?” He quirks an eyebrow suggestively.

I blush. “Yeah… our bedroom… where we have a strict no-clothes-allowed rule.”

“Yeah, okay…”

When we get upstairs, Alistair takes his clothes off and slides beneath the sheets. He pats the blankets next to him so I'll slide in too.

“Do you love me?” he asks. His face looks incredibly serious.

“Of course I love you,” I say.

“Then come here…” He pulls me down onto him and kisses me deeply. The edge of an incisor grazes my lip in what I think was a calculated gesture. He runs his hand down my side and wraps it around to grab my hip.

“I want you,” I breathe.

“I know you do…” he almost laughs. “Let’s give it just a second, though…”

“—no,” I interrupt. “I _want_ you… please…” I look into his eyes pointedly so he’ll know what I mean. I find it pretty hard to tell him I want to be fucked. In light of the assault a few months ago and in light of how recently we _weren’t_ together, it feels weird.

“How?” he asks. He’s goading me; I can tell.

“I want you…” I bite my lip, hesitating. “I want you inside me…”

“Why?”

 _Why?_ _What does that mean?_

He laughs. “Why, Andy? Why today? Are you feeling bad about something?”

“No,” I say seriously. “I actually feel great...the best I’ve felt in ages. Let’s capitalize on that and do something I want to do… but am usually kind of weird about.”

He laughs. “If you’re sure…”

I nod.

He puts both hands on the sides of my face and kisses me hard. His lips slot with mine—his are always the lower set. He bites and sucks my bottom lip until it hurts.

“I love your mouth,” he whispers. My bottom lip is still between his teeth at the time, so it sounds funny, but I smile as well as I can anyway.

“Why?”

“Because your bottom lip is so juicy.” He laughs and blushes. So do I.

“I already said you can fuck me,” I joke. “You don’t have to butter me up.”

“Shut up,” he laughs and sits up, letting the blankets fall away.

He looks incredibly good. Every time I see him naked, it’s like the first time.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“Let me show you how much I like your idea…” He bites his bottom lip and pushes me until I’m flat on my stomach against the mattress. I can’t see him, but I know what he’s about to do a second later when I feel his stubble against the skin of my ass.

“Oh god, I’m not sure about—”

He interrupts me, “Stop... You just took a shower...”

I try to relax back as he licks a line down from my spine.

“Oh dear god…” I breathe.

To say that this feels good is an understatement. It’s like the warmest bath you can imagine, with the added promise of being fucked after. Before I even realize it, I’m pushing backward against his lips and whimpering softly.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. He lets his chin rest against my hip and swirls a finger in the spit he’s deposited. “Can I?”

I nod and grunt something like agreement.

When he pushes inside, it’s gentle. In fact, I’m so turned on from all the licking and kissing that I barely feel it—until he touches that place…. The second he curls his fingers, I feel like an explosion goes off behind my eyelids. My dick aches to be touched, but it’s trapped between my abdomen and the mattress. I try to grab for it between the sheets, but I can’t reach very well. I groan in frustration.

“Sweetie…” Alistair whispers.

I pick my head up and try to look at him.

“Do you want me?” He bites his lip.

I nod and push myself up onto all fours. The second my dick is free, I remember how much I want to be touching it, but I wait. I know I need to be totally relaxed for this. Alistair is, actually, quite big—even though he’d swear up and down that I’m much more impressive than he is, etc. etc. And, on top of that, he’s incredibly strong and powerful when he gets going.

He pulls my hips back gently and pushes the blunt head of his cock against me. I always find this part to be kind of awkward, regardless of who is doing what. It's the moment before fucking. It's weirdly quiet and incredibly tense.

...and then it shatters. He pushes so far inside me that I feel like we’re one person—occupying the same space.

“Holy shit,” I yell.

He laughs. “Good?”

I crane my neck to look at him over my shoulder. “I love you. Fuck me.”

He doesn’t wait for me to ask again. He grabs my hips and grinds forward into me. He’s going pretty fast, actually, considering we literally haven’t had sex like this since the night we broke up—years ago.

That thought throws me.

“Al?” I feel my whole body go sort of rigid.

He must feel the difference too, because he stops moving and leans forward to look into my eyes. “What’s happening? Are you okay?”

I nod. “Al—I missed you _so_ much.”

“I missed you too…” he smiles and kisses the edge of my jaw. He must be convinced I'm okay, because he starts to move again.

“No, I mean… I can't believe we're okay,” I say.

He squints.

“It's been a really long time since I did this particular thing and liked it.” I blush.

“You like this, huh?” He looks smug.

“You're super fucking good at it,” I say. “Now stop looking at me like that and fuck me.”

“Yes, Sir…” he rises to his full kneeling height and drags my hips with him.

Before I even get my bearings, he starts to dig his fingers into me. He's sweating and breathing in bursts. “Babe…” he gasps “I'm gonna come…”

“Oh god, do it.”

He leans forward a little and reaches around to grab my cock. The second he touches it, I realize it's harder and more sensitive than I've felt it in ages. Even before he starts to touch me, it feels like I'm going to come all over the sheets.

“Anders…” he groans my name like a prayer. I've never heard him say anything I like as much as my own name. And then he comes—rather shallowly...I feel myself leaking already but I can't be bothered, I'm so close it hurts. The orgasm is building like a hot ember in gut—it's only going to take a second—and then—

Everything blurs. My arms can no longer hold me up—I find myself bowing toward the mattress, face buried in myriad decorative pillows. My whole body tenses and relaxes. And Alistair is still inside me, so I feel it there too: the sudden, ineffable bursts of contraction. I feel it everywhere and nowhere. The whole world is out of focus and sync. The only thing I really do know is Alistair—he’s here: with me, on top of me, inside me. He's in my body and my mind. I've never felt like this before.

As the haze clears, I force my mind to work. “Love you, Al…” It was either that or gross sobbing all over him, and I'd rather not end this particular encounter with tears.

“I love you too.” He kisses my neck and pants into my ear. “Let me go clean all _this_ ,” he laughs. “And I'll meet you back here.”

           

* * *

 

In the afterglow, I find myself staring at the ceiling. I can see the rise and fall of his chest peripherally—it's perfectly in synch with mine.

“Hey Andy?” he says suddenly.

I roll onto my side to look at him and drape my thigh across his hips.

“Do you think you'd want to practice with me?” he asks.

I'm not sure what to say. My mouth drops open.

“I have this crazy idea,” he says. “About a ortho/sports/wellness practice… it's not part of a conglomerate… it's just us and some PTs and maybe a couple other doctors… some rehab equipment.”

I smile.

“Obviously, don't answer now… but someday…” he curls into me and kisses my chest. “I would love to practice with you.”

It’s a strange thing to ask. I’m so used to this never-ending rat race I’m in that I can’t remember the last time I thought about what I actually _wanted_. After all, I’m a millennial—we don’t know how to _be_.

The day I decided I wanted to be a doctor, I was sixteen. Even at that time, I knew it would mean long hours and grueling studies, but it never mattered. I lived for that. To say I was overcommitted as a teenager would be an understatement. I got up at five for swim practice before school and stayed after for tennis. I was in the orchestra and two honor societies. I knew how to overachieve. What I didn’t know how to do was relax. I’m not sure if I know any better now.

“Hey Al?”

“Yeah?”

“Were you overcommitted in high school and college?”

He laughs. “Yeah. Super… I used to work so hard during the term that I’d always get sick on my breaks. I was so sick during the Christmas of my freshman year of college that I didn’t even go home for break.”

“I had a feeling…” I say. “Are you thinking of this clinic as a way to destress?”

He sits up and looks down at me. “God no… I wouldn’t know how to exist like that.”

“Thank god… I wouldn’t either. If I’m not overworking, am I working at all?”

“Exactly.” He leans down to kiss me. “And if we did this clinic idea—not that we _have_ to—we’d be working around the clock to make it work…”

I nod.

“...but I think it would be rewarding—maybe the best thing for us.”

I kiss his nose and cheeks and eventually catch his lips between my teeth. “I love you. Let's do it.”

“Really?”

I nod. “Really. Let’s _make_ the life we want.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! It's bittersweet to finish up this last challenge, but I think you guys are going to love the sidestory, Wedding Bells (will be posted in the next couple days) and the final chapter of the main story.
> 
> If you liked this challenge and series, I'd love to hear from you. :) 
> 
> Thank you again!


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